by Deana Birch
I searched the faces of my posse, and Gina’s radiating grin told me she knew something I didn’t.
My eyes darted back to the stage, but instead of the band coming back on, the one and only Jake Riley sat down at the piano.
“What is happening?” I mouthed to Fern, who looked as shocked as I was.
My hands came to my mouth and my head shook back and forth.
Jake cleared his throat and played a few slow, warm chords. He closed his eyes and brought those perfectly shaped lips to the microphone. Although the room was full, I knew whatever came next was just for me.
With his scratchy, throaty voice, he sang:
* * *
Warmest eyes and the sweetest smile
Playful and innocent as a child
Didn’t know what I had, didn’t know how to love
This second chance is a gift from above
* * *
So I’ll take it … slower
For her
Slower
For her
* * *
Foolish mistakes, threw it all away
Haunted me endlessly, all night and day
Didn’t know what to be, didn’t know if she’d see
Hope in the end, she’ll just love me for me
* * *
So I’ll be better
For her
Slower
For her
* * *
I will be the man she needs
I will be the breath she breathes
I will be a better man…
For her
Slower
For her
Slower
* * *
Hope in her eyes again once more
Memories replay of me at her front door
Now I know what to do, and I know who to be
I am a better man, she already sees
* * *
Because I take it
Slower
For her
Slower
For her
* * *
Tears streaked my face as Jake finished the gentle chords on his piano. He thanked the audience, who were clapping and trying to figure out who Louana Higgins was and how she’d been lucky enough to be serenaded by the most beautiful soul on the planet.
He took the three steps off the stage and headed right to me. My knees wobbled, but I stood to meet him.
“Can we stop pretending we’re not back together and just be back together now?” he asked.
I’d never expected Jake to be this romantic, but there was no way I would deny him his grand gesture. I nodded my approval, and he leaned down to kiss me.
“Come on. I’m taking you home and getting you naked.” He took my hand and led me out the door. I waved goodbye to my lady squad from over my shoulder and wiped away my final tears.
As we waited for his Jeep to pull up, he drew me close.
“Is that what you’ve been practicing the last couple of weeks?”
“Yeah, you were right. I need to play music. And you seemed like the best place to start.”
“You were amazing.” I reached up for another kiss.
“I’m not gonna lie—it felt good to be back on stage, but I miss the part where I hit the drums.” He winked. The gesture hadn’t lost any power since the first day we’d met.
The car pulled up and he drove us home on Sunset. Through the window, I watched the crowds outside of popular bars blur by us as my mind replayed the lyrics he’d written for me. This wasn’t just slower; it was deeper. While I was sorry that Jake and I had traveled a bumpy road, I could never regret it. It had led us to this moment. I reached over for his hand and held it tight all the way back home.
The security lamp buzzed in the courtyard, and he led me up the steps to his apartment. With all the romance in the air, I’d expected Jake to continue his slow pace. But predictability is not Jake Riley’s strong suit.
My back was against the wall before the door even clicked closed. The urgency in his kiss told me the soft and gentle Jake would be back later. Hot, steamy, bulldozing Jake had apparently won the front-row ticket at the raffle. He battered my lips and neck with his mouth and tongue as he stripped off both of our clothes. He only stopped just as he was about to enter and seal the deal.
His thumb caressed my cheek. “Tell me you love me again.”
“I never stopped.”
His eyes lit up. “I knew it!”
He flipped me around and held my wrists overhead while he caressed my bare cheeks.
“Baby?” I hummed, and he pestered my hairline, his scratchy, unshaven face more pleasure than pain. “Did you mean what you said about going slower?”
He stopped his blissful tease and I spun around to face him.
“Sorry.” His eyes closed, and he pulled me close. “If you’re not ready for this …”
I licked my lips and gathered my courage. There was something I’d needed to share with him for a long time. Something that would allow him to be a first for me. “It’s just …” I let out a long exhale through rounded lips. “I mean, if you can take it slow, I think we can try …”
He shook his head and kissed me gently. “No. I thought about it. I think we should take our time before you move in.”
I blinked a few times. That wasn’t what I’d meant, but I didn’t have the balls to say it. Maybe it was best to show him.
My hands found his, and I lowered them to my ass. Then my fingers withdrew and brushed up his body before settling behind his neck. I kissed his collar bone where he’d branded himself with the first letter of my first name. My tongue ran the length of his jawline, and his man below rubbed into my stomach while he groaned his contentment.
At his ear, I finally found my courage. “I’d like to take other things slower, too.”
He pulled back and narrowed his brow. I smiled. He still had no idea. As slowly as I could, I turned to face the wall, my ass brushing against his erection until the bulge found a home between my cheeks. I walked my hands down the wall and pushed my hips back, then looked over my shoulder.
Jake’s eyes darted down then back to mine. A huge grin spread across his beautiful face.
With one hand, he reached around to tease me from the front while the other ran circles over my ass. “I love you. And yes, that will definitely be taken slow.”
I faced the wall again, back in love, back in passion, and back where I wanted to be.
Epilogue
JAKE
* * *
A barely audible wheeze seeped out of Louana’s thin nose. It was rare that she could out-sleep me, but she hadn’t slept much on the plane, whereas I had probably kept the other passengers in first class awake with my hops between snoring and apnea. But holy hell, I was paying for it now. Although I had to admit the bed in Stella’s villa, with its goose-down pillows and duvet, and a clean laundry scent that was somehow like a lullaby, was giving our own comfy one a run for its money.
I rolled over and checked my watch. Almost midnight local time, and I was craving something sweet. Surely even the eagle-eyed Stella and her stiff posture wouldn’t miss an extra helping of that cherry clafou-something she’d served us after dinner. Besides, my favorite ally on the planet—Louana’s mom, Charlotte—was with us, and she’d already told me that she’d have my back.
I tucked the tired-out beauty into the covers and added my pillow where my body had been. I found my track pants and pulled them on with a hoodie just in case I ran into our host. The massive wooden door to our bedroom gave a traitorous long squeak when I closed it, but Louana remained unfazed.
A dim light glowed from an antique lamp at the end of the hall, and I passed the bathroom on my way to the back stairs. In the massive farm-style and fully pimped kitchen, the white-and-grey marble counters were spotless. They even sparkled under the small lights from below the whitewashed cabinets.
But the damn cherry thing, that I’d been sure would be waiting for me, was nowhere in sight. Now I would have to snoop. My stom
ach grumbled its annoyance. I padded over to the fridge and yanked its long, sleek handle, rattling glass bottles as I did. What was it with the doors in this house? Were they all spies or booby traps?
I bobbed and weaved my head, searching for my prize. The mixed green and black olives in the white-and marine-blue-bowl called out and I popped one in my mouth. When I turned around to put the pit into the trash—and I had no idea where that was, either—I nearly choked.
Standing eerily silent, with a closed book in one hand and reading glasses in the other, still as flawless and pristine as the moment I’d met her a few short hours prior, was none other than Stella. I knew those doors were spies.
With as much grace as I could manage, which admittedly wasn’t much in my current state, I spit the pit into my hand and closed the fridge—a rattle or squeak notably absent. Damn, she was a force. I mean, I’d seen it in her video all those months ago. How she commanded attention without effort. The undeniable power in her perfect pitch and voice. But her physical form was even more intimidating.
She walked over to the large wooden table and placed her book and glasses down, giving them all her attention. Then she looked back at me and arched an eyebrow. Holy shit. I hadn’t felt this tiny since Mrs. Reading had scolded me in first grade for not knowing how to tie my shoes.
In perfect English, she said, “Can I help you find something, Jacob?” Her eyes glided down to my hand. “The trash receptacle, perhaps?”
“Yes, please.” Should I ma’am her? Would that set off an old lady alarm?
Stella strolled over to the sink and opened a large drawer that had been posing as a cabinet. She pointed to the different bins. “Recycling, compost, and neither. What we call ‘odors’ in French. That which cannot decay or be reused.”
I opened my hand and showed her the chewed-on pit.
“Compost, my dear.” She smiled. Holy shit. At me. “Can’t sleep?”
After I dropped the pit into the appropriate bin, she closed the long drawer. I rubbed my stubble and said, “I may have slept too much on the plane.”
“Would you like a drink? I have a twenty-five-year-old Armagnac that’s smoother than silk.”
I had no idea what kind of drink that was, but smooth sounded good. And basically whatever she was offering me I was going to say yes to.
“Only if you join me.” A gamble, maybe. After all, she hadn’t drunk much at dinner. But I needed this woman on my side. And the only way I knew to do that was to tell her how much her granddaughter meant to me. How the little woman we both loved—who was sleeping over our heads—inspired me. Changed my life.
“Go make yourself comfortable in the salon, I’ll get the glasses.” Late-night one-on-one Stella was way less formal than the woman who had served us dinner. In fact, she was almost warm. Although there was nothing grandmotherly about her.
Five minutes later, as I sat on the cream leather couch and told my stomach I’d deal with it later—I had priorities and the aging opera singer’s blessing trumped all else—she walked into her formal living room with a tray. There were two large brandy glasses and a spread of breadsticks, olives, and dried meat. She set it down on the low square table in front of me and took a seat in the high-backed gold chair to my left.
I had to admit her villa was impressive. Almost daunting. The shrubs outside were perfectly rounded and trimmed, the long cobblestone drive clean of leaves and weeds. And the interior, with its stone archways and perfect décor—including a gleaming grand piano—was so typically French, it could have been a movie set.
Stella poured our drinks and tipped her head as she said cheers. I mimicked her movement of swishing the amber liquid, smelling the vanilla and oak, and finally sipping the drink. Its warm and buttery flavor coated my throat on the way down.
“You weren’t lying; that’s spectacular. Thank you for sharing.” I set the glass down in front of me and nabbed a slice of cured ham. Also delicious. Louana’s desire to spend time in France made absolute sense on every level.
Stella offered a tight smile. “I listened to that song of yours. It’s very … loud.”
Loud was better than horrifying. I decided to focus on the fact that she’d actually listened to it. I reached for more meat, winked, and said, “They’re not all like that.”
“Well, you certainly understand songwriting. It was very catchy; I hummed it for a week.” She sipped again, hiding her confession behind the glass.
Color me shocked and douse me in glitter. She almost sounded as if she’d liked it. And I was pretty sure she’d given me a compliment in there somewhere.
“I saw the video of you singing ‘Ave Maria.’ Stunning.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” She rolled her dark eyes. “My stint as a wedding singer. I really must tell Louana to stop showing that to people.” Her words lacked one hundred percent conviction.
“Don’t you sing at all anymore? Seems like a shame.”
Her face scrunched up in a way that reminded me of her granddaughter. “Flattery will get you everywhere, young man. Once a diva, always a diva.”
“In that case, I’ll confess to being shocked that you are old enough to be Louana’s grandmother.”
“Ha!” Her head fell back. “At least make it believable.”
Okay, I might have gone too far. But there was no doubt that beauty ran in the family. “You’re all stunning as far as I’m concerned.” And that was no lie. Stella, Charlotte, and Louana—while all different—were all gorgeous.
“Louana takes after Charlotte’s father. He was an Italian playboy who could never settle down. A sinful amount of fun, but a horrible husband and nonexistent parent.” Stella swirled her drink. “Unfortunately, Louana had the same experience, but with a dreadful American.”
Right. That guy. The long gone but still haunting man who I was probably being compared to because of our nationality. And then there was the other guy, the one who lived here and I had zero desire to come face-to-face with.
“Well, I can assure you I’m not like that. My parents are a huge part of my life, and if I can ever convince your granddaughter to marry me and give me some kids, I’ll be there every step of the way.”
“You’ve asked her?” Stella raised a thin eyebrow.
Oh, boy. How to dance around that topic. “She said we can’t talk about it until she’s thirty.”
“Ah … Louana the avoider. Typical.”
I didn’t want to jump on a bandwagon with a Louana-bashing sign on the side, but Stella’s observation was spot on, and it brought a smile to my face.
She continued, “Well, if you do ever do it, please come see me first. I have a diamond I’d like to be hers. It would be a sign of my blessing, and I would be happy to know a part of me was always with her.”
I had to ask, put all my cards and fears on the table. “You don’t mind that I’m not, you know”—I pointed a thumb over my shoulder— “that other guy?”
“Dimitri?”
His name almost made me gag.
“Yeah. Him.”
She finished her drink and gently set the glass down on the table. “I thought a lot about that. And I realized me holding onto the idea of them was selfish. I wanted Louana here—in France—for me. And pushing them together was my way of doing that. But other than her happiness, I want my granddaughter, my legacy to this world, to be independent. To make her own path. Whatever that is, whoever that is, is her choice.”
Stella pressed into the arms of the chair and stood up. “Please make yourself at home. This will all be Louana’s one day, and perhaps yours by default. Might as well take advantage now. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Well, fuck me. That woman was more human than I’d ever imagined. And her love—not to mention her understanding—for Louana was as fierce as my own.
I finished the spread and cleaned up. With light steps, I went back upstairs to the woman I loved.
As I slid into the bed, she said a drowsy, “hey, you okay?”
* * *
THE END
Smut-O-Logue
It has come to my attention, Dear Readers, that there is significantly less sexy time in Slower than there was in Faster. Therefore, because writing the open-door saucy scenes between Jake and Louana is not only a complete blast but almost effortless, I offer you the “Smut-o-logue.” One last chance to enjoy a dose of these two getting hot and heavy.
* * *
LOUANA
“Do you have any bobby pins?” Jake asked as he dried his hands on the dish towel.
I sat on the couch with my e-reader and looked up at him in the doorway of what was now our kitchen. “Yeah, a ton. How many do you need?”
“Just two. Bring them to the bedroom with you.”
I wondered if Jake had bought handcuffs and lost the key. What the hell else would he want with bobby pins? It wasn’t as if his hair was long enough to require them.
In the bedroom, lazy music played from his portable speaker.
“Who’s this?”
“Mazzy Star. It’s older, but I’ve been listening to it for inspiration for the solo artist I’m writing for. But it made me horny.” He winked.
“Lucky me.” I presented him with his requested pins, and a crooked grin appeared on his face.
“Just put them next to the bed. We don’t need them yet.”
I followed orders and walked back to him. My chest rose and fell as the heat inside me connected with his own. His hand cupped my face, and his thumb caressed my cheek.
“So beautiful,” he whispered. Even after two years, hearing his admiration for me could still make me blush. I pushed my jaw into his hand and closed my eyes. By doing so, I exposed the right side of my neck, and his mouth began there. His kisses were just as slow and intimate as the music playing around us. His gentle advances blurred with the soundtrack, and I entered a smoky cloud of lust and longing.